


Shell

by TheQueen



Series: To Learn To Understand [6]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements (Not from Azog), Stockholm Syndrome, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:31:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueen/pseuds/TheQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin presses his hands to his ear to make sure his brain would not fall out as he attempts to shake the fog clouding his mind. "He is safer forgetting me."</p><p>Azog sighs, a full body shudder as he stares at what Thorin presumes to be the crack in the ceiling. "He will never forget you. No one could."</p><p> </p><p> DISCONTINUED</p><p> </p><p>  <sub>The fourth installment of a series called <em>To Learn To Understand</em>.</sub><br/><sub>Thorin and Fili are kidnapped by Azog before Battle of Azanulbizar. Thorin, affected by the Stockholm Syndrom, falls in love with his kidnapper after some time while Fili is raised as Azog's son.</sub><br/><sub>This is their lives.</sub><br/><sub>PS: Looking for someone to write or at least co-write smut for this story. Comment if interested!</sub></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.  
Albert Einstein

* * *

Thorin shifts, eyes squeezed tight to stop his fears and fists jammed into his cheeks to leave knuckle wide, red swells where rock and dirt would rub along the dips, when he hears the pattern of change.

Ears strain to pick past the sound of water and rats, he hears the thud of footsteps too heavy to be anyone except

"Azog," Thorin greets past the lump in his throat as he accepts the tray of food handed to him. Outside the rain pelts the window so the room's blue walls are colored gray and cool. "How is he?"

"Distraught," Azog grunts, his mouth forms words wrong, opening to wide with the tongue too heavy to compensate. "But I was able to get him to rest."

"Thank you," Thorin murmurs, head bowed.

"Thorin?" The Orc calls to him and Thorin blinks, dragging his head up to see him standing outside.

Groaning low, he lifts himself up, head rolling forward. The crack on the ceiling has grown.

"Azog," Thorin greets past the lump in his throat, crawling towards the bars of his cell where he accepts the tray of food with shaking hands. "How is he?"

"He cries," Azog says, taking his seat, "Every night he cries himself to sleep waiting for you."

Thorin swallows, dry, as shards of bread scrap along his throat and settle like lead in his stomach. He wonders if Fili's nose still scrunches up, red and runny, or if his nephew has finally mastered the art of silent tears.

"Eat," Azog urges, handing Thorin a tissue to wipe his tears. Outside, the rain has picked up, and Azog has lit the fire before kneeling before him, hands on his thighs as he urges Thorin to calm.

Thorin finally accepts the tissue gratefully, whipping his face before taking another spoonful of soup. It burns his tongue, "I hurt him."

"Aye, but you did not mean it," Azog insisted, taking Thorin's hand in his own, and Thorin is struck at how truly tiny he is. "You would never willingly hurt him."

"But I did!" Thorin hisses.

Azog sighs, rubbing his face, and Thorin feels guilt color his cheeks as he peered up at the Orc through matted hair. "He asks for you every night," Azog says after a moment as Thorin turns to watch a rat scurry its way along the walls. He wonders where it is running and what it is running from. When Thorin does not respond, Azog says, "He needs you."

Thorin presses his hands to his ear to make sure his brain would not fall out as he attempts to shake the fog clouding his mind. "He is safer forgetting me."

Azog sighs, a full body shudder as he stares at what Thorin presumes to be the crack in the ceiling. "He will never forget you. No one could."

…

Thorin is watching a drop of water crawl down the wall, slowly growing bigger when Durin comes to him. Sometimes his footsteps are heavy like an orc's and sometimes soft and silent like a drop of water slithering down a cave wall.

That day he chose silence.

"Oh Thorin," he coos, ghost hands ruffling his hair, mourning the state of his braids.

"Please, stop," Thorin pleads, wishing to move, but unable to get his limbs to listen, the weight of the mountain pinned him to the ground. He could feel tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

For a moment, Durin neither moves nor speaks, and Thorin hopes that he has finally ride his mind of these hallucinations until he feels two hands move him, rolling him over until he looking up at Durin's face.

He is beautiful again, eyes gold and face so soft and smooth. He even has Dwalin's nose today. Thorin could feel the edge of his mouth trying to twist up into a smile at the thought of his love.

Comparatively, Thorin knows he looks terrible, pale and thin and weak with a wrist too small and hair matted with grime from the cell floor. He wishes he could just fall away, sink through the earth and stone and keep going until he burned away, soul lost to the darkness.

"What do you want with me?" Thorin croaks, lifting a hand to catch one of Durin's swinging braids - the First Braid.

Durin doesn't answer, gold eyes shifting, categorizing, swallowing Thorin whole in two liquid pits and, for the first time in a long time, Thorin feels true fear. Durin licks his lips and whispers, "Saving you."

Thorin feels his voice leave him as birds on winds as Durin claims his lips as his own. The kiss hurts in its coldness for he is kissing the tip of a mountain or the farthest reaches of the sea - either way he cannot breath - and he gasps, a low sensual sound, and tries to turn his head. But the weight of the earth is to heavy, and Thorin feels his mind slipping away like grains of sand through fingers; he grasps empty air. For a moment, he thinks he hears Durin whisper, far away and too close all at once, "Mine…" but he isn't sure because the water is rushing down and the clang of metal on metal like two swords clashing again and again and again on the training grounds of Erebor - louder and louder and louder and louder and louder and

Silence.

Ears strain to pick past the sound of water and rats, he hears the sound of a heart beat under his fingers and soft, powerful breaths along his cheeks. Pulling back with wide eyes, he turns his head to see a drop of water crawling down the wall, slowly growing bigger before glancing down to see a tray of food lay fallen on the floor. Turning back, he felt the tears he'd been holding back finally begin to fall, "Azog...I-I don't know what's happening to me…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that made sense.


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Dad you taught me the love of a father. In your arms I was always safe. You taught me selflessness. To you I am forever grateful. I love you dad.

 Nishan Panwar

**...**

Nineteen floors above, near the heart of a mountain, stood a young dwarfing overlooking the city of Orcs bellow.

"What are your thoughts, **Balacıq**?" Blodog asks as he keeps his hand firmly on the young one's waist to make sure the child did not take a dive over the railing. Or lack there off. It was one of the few things about his home that Blodog had always found distasteful. Had the dwarves who built these Halls not think of their children?

"You are very scary," Fili says after a moment, squinting into the firelight to make out the movement of Orcs. They reminded him of the ants that would crawl out of their holes after he smashed them before mother told him not to. It is not kind to steal homes from other creatures. "And you made Uncle Thorin sad."

Blodog did not know how to respond.

"But you're not that different." Fili continues. He points at the city bellow, "I think of Uncle could see you all like this, he wouldn't be so sad anymore." Fili turns to look at Blodog with a look of utmost seriousness and says, "And then he'll come home."

Blodog's thoughts turned to his **Qardaş** and his daily trips to the dungeons bellow, and, how with each trip, he returned sadder and angrier; his moods wild; his tears common.    

" **Günahından keçmək mən*** ," he would beg, " **Günahından keçmək mən** ,"

"I hope so, **Balacıq** ," Blodog smiles. He truly does.

 

 

...

Azog takes great care when placing his **Könül** on the bed as his thoughts ran wild from what he'd just learned. Outside, the sun has only begun to set, the moon shown a blood read in the distance. Blood had been shed in mass, and for a moment Azog paused to wonder who and what and why before closing the curtains. It hasn't been his people. It isn't his concern.

Turning, Azog’s steps lead him to the edge of the bed where Thorin shifts, hands twisting into the furs as his face tenses, worry line growing along his forehead and touch the corner of his eyes.

He was so terribly thin: black-matted hair, oily-yellow skin and the pale outlines of the bones of his wrists.

“Fili,” Thorin mouths, over and over and over again as he wrenches the furs from his bed in thick fists, “Fili. Fili. Fili.”

Unable to watch and unable to leave, Azog unwinds the fingers until they find their place around his own. Knuckles turned white. Thorin’s body turns to him like a sunflower to the sun as Thorin grasps Azog’s hand tight enough to draw blood from under sharp nails. Silently, Azog watches red on white trace a path down his wrist to pool on the fur’s stained brown with dirt and wonders how they got there.

“Fili. Fili. Fili.” Thorin chants

“I know,” though he did not, “I know. I know. I know.”

 

 

…

When Fili is dropped off in the Royal apartments, he is surprised to see the office where Mister Azog  works is empty.

“Try his room.” Mister Blodog says as he turns to leave. Probably to return to his own family. though Fili did not know if Mister Blodog had a family. It just seemed like something Mister Blodog would have.

It was easy for Mister Blodog to say for he had gone into Mister Azog’s rooms plenty of times. But Fili has never gone. Certainly, he has been invited on multiple occasions and told that he could enter whenever he pleased, but Fili has never been able to get past staring at the great gold doors that lead into said rooms.

At first it is because Fili had never been into an Orc’s room and found the prospect rather daunting. After all, what if all the stories were true and they did sleep on beds of bones with the heads of their enemies mounted on the wall as a frightening display of power? But after Fili goes to Bolg’s--who will rather annoying at the best of times was the only playmate Fili had while Uncle Thorin was away (and when would he be coming back? Uncle Thorin had promised he’d be back)--room, he knew that the stories were all dragon’s drool--as his mother would say. So Fili is forced to admit--though he’d never say it out loud--that he is rather frightened of Mister Azog, who is bigger than his Uncle. Plus, Fili isn’t sure if he likes Mister Azog. After all, he made his Uncle sad! Before Uncle left, he never smiled, never laughed. He used to do that all the time when they were home. Uncle promised one day they would go back home again, but Fili wasn’t sure anymore. After all, how could he go home without Uncle! Plus Mister Azog hadn’t seemed to like the idea when he asked even if going home would make Uncle happy again.

Glancing at the great doors, Fili debates the merits of at least looking on or waiting for Bolg to come home. It is always so very boring when Bolg is at lessons--though he supposed it was better than going to lessons himself. Yuck! Visiting with mountain with Mister Blodog is not boring. Fili just wonders what will happen when he no longer has anywhere to visit. After that, Mister Blodog will probably prefer to spend the days with his own son.

Fili mostly wants Bolg to come back so they could finish their plans to visit Uncle Thorin. It took too much time to convince Bolg to agree in the first place and Mother had always said "Patients wasn't his strong suit."

Suddenly, he could not wait any longer. He deeded to do something. And so he pushes the doors to Mister Azog's room--where were surprisingly heavy--and sees the room is uncomfortably dark.

"Fili?" Mister Azog asks as he walks out of the bathroom, arms carrying a person that looked awfully like...

"Uncle Thorin!" Fili cries, hurrying over with a grin that split his face in two.

"Hush, Fili," Mister Azog hisses, laying Uncle Thorin on the bed, body wrapped in a towel. He must have fallen asleep when bathing, "But yes. Uncle Thorin."

Fili is silent as he takes in his Uncle's appearance, even in sleep, he still looked sad. That's all he ever looks like. Ever since they came here, Uncle has been sad. Fili too. But he has learned how to be less sad when Uncle was gone. He still misses Mommy and Daddy and Uncle Frerin and Grandfather and everyone, but he is okay spending time with Bolg and Mister Blodog, and sometimes Mister Azog, who is still rather scary but almost as sad as Uncle Thorin so not as scary as before.

"Will he be okay, Mister Azog?" Fili asks as he decides to lie down and sleep nest to his Uncle.

Asog felt his heart ache to see his dwarves finally together again, "Aye. I suppose he will be." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did skip a super important part where Thorin tells Azog all this stuff. But that's because you'll learn what that stuff is later! ^u^
> 
> *Translations:  
> Günahından keçmək mən - "Forgive me"  
> Günahından keçmək - "Forgive  
> mən - me/I
> 
> Langauge Key:  
> Plain = Common  
> Italicized = Khuzdul  
> Bold = Azerdajin


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Italics in this portion refer to Flashbacks, not Khuzdul like usual, except for one word marked by a *.
> 
> And sorry for the typos, there may be more than usual. I haven't proofread at all. Just wanted to get this up when I could.

Love is what we were born with. Fear is what we learned here.

Marianne Williamson

* * *

That morning Thorin wakes to the warmth of a body against his own and, despite its size, he hopes for the briefest of moments he is home and when he opens his eyes, he will wake to the sight of Dwalin sprawled across their bed, mouth open and droll in his beard. Not the charmingest of sights but Thorin had learned to love it.

But when he opens his eyes to a ceiling of grander that causes Erebor to pale in comparison, he could not truly bring himself to be disappointed.

"Be careful when you move," Azog says and Thorin turns his head to glance at the Orc King sitting besides his bed. For a moment, Thorin is scared to find himself naked beneath the sheets, but it passes quickly, He could not bring himself to anymore fear Azog than he could miss Dwalin. Not after last night. No. Not at all.

"Why is that?" Thorin asks.

Azog smiles--it looked good on him--"Because I doubt waking Fili is your goal."

Any sense of serenity Thorin possessed at that moment was lost to an enveloping feeling of fear. Not of Azog or Dwalin, but of himself and what he had done.

Turning his head, he saw his dear-nephew curled against his side,. clutching his harm for dear life.

"He lay like that all night," Azog tells him and Thorin finds he cannot tear his eyes away from that sleeping face and the innocents it possessed. Why was Fili in his bed when he should hate him? Why was Fili clutching his arm as he always did--though perhaps a little tighter as if he was afraid his Uncle would disappear?

_"My son tells me that Fili had created a plan to find you down here?" Azog tells him, petting his hair as he waits for Thorin to find his words._

_"Why?"_

_Azog chuckles, a sound muted by the drips of water along the walls, "For he loves you Thorin. And he does not blame you for what you did, not as you do."_

Oh yes...that is why...

"I will leave to call up breakfast," Azog continues as if he didn't see the tremors in his **Könül's** shoulders. "There are clothes for you in the drawer. Fili said you liked blue."

...

When Thorin finally rose, he had calmed his heart to a steady beat.

"Hush, Fili," Thorin coos as he climbs out of bed and places a pillow in Fili's arms in his place, "Hush."

Azog's rooms were somewhat overly lavished,. The only thing that came close in Thorin's eyes is the Holy Temple of Mahal. And as he searched for his clothes, he could not help but be in awe of the stone work, etching, and paintings upon the walls that had withstood the great test of time. He traced his fingers along the smooth carving of the wardrobe and beauroes. This was the work of his people. His first people. If the halls of _Khazadun*_ had not been lost, perhaps these would have been the rooms of his family.

A chuckle rose from the corner and Thorin spun on his heels, hand going for a weapon he did not own to find nothing. But his heart warned him of the danger in the dark and of his nephew sleeping still so trustful. Gripping his hand tight till his fingernails cut into his palm, he willed his heart to rest.

_"And he came to you in a dream?" Azog nudges._

_"But I thought I was awake," Thorin repeats. "I thought I had gone to the bathroom to splash water on my face....I broke the basin...."_

_Azog says nothing, his mind falling on that memory of clearing the shards of the water basin from the floor._

_"And the water basin was broken in the morning," Thorin says after a moment in a whisper. "And I broke it in my dream."_

_Azog hesitates before asking, "What if it wasn't it a dream?"_

Finally, he finds his clothes: trousers, tunic, and a long dark blue robe...though not in a style he was expecting. It was longer than a dwarven robe, sweeping the floor with a small train so when he walks it looked as if he floats. The shoulders and hood is lined with Warg fur and dyed a lighter blue. It is not heavily embroidered, the detail in the fit and along the cuffs in silver thread. Simple, but elegant. He is surprised by how much he likes it.

Once he is done dressing, he goes to the bathroom and cleans himself. He grew thin as he suspected but not to the point where it was unhealthy. He had clearly exaggerated his loss of weight in his fevered mind. He would gain it back sooner or later. What he worried about most was his hair. Searching, he finally came upon a small knife and took the time to trim his heard and cut the bottom of his hair so that he looked more presentable.

And when he was done, he finally left the safety of the room.

...

Outside Azog sat with a child in his lap, speaking softly. And Thorn could not find his voice to announce himself as he watched the Orc King bring the child close to his breast much to the child's annoyance.

_As they sat, Thorin could not find the will to draw away and he breathed easy when Azog did not push him away but draped a hang along his shoulders to curl his fingers in his dirty hair._

_"You are scared." Azog sighs, "Will you not tell me what haunts you."_

_"If I do, you will only think me madder than you already must."_

_"Then hat a surprise for I do not find you mad at all."_

Finally Azog sets the child down and the child collects a bag from the floor. For a moment longer the two chatter in their own tongue before the child leaves.

"Has he gone for his lessons?' Thorin asks, moving towards the center of the apartment. His eyes are drawn to the grand carving along the eastern wall. In the corner is the artists' name bad Thorin stood a moment to decipher the calligraphy. Balin would be so disappointed.

"He is," Azog smiles the smile of a proud parent.

"Was that Bolg?" Thorin asks. After last night, polite conversation is the least he could do.

"Yes, Bolg after his mother's clan," Azog says rising form the sofa, "Come. There is breakfast in the eating room."

"What do you mean by 'his mother's clan'?" Throin says following Azog ino the adjacent room where a table had been set with a variety of small dishes, some Thorin recognized, most he did not. But they did not look unappealing.

"When a child is born, they belong to their mother's clan and the child will take the Sound of their mother's clan in their name. My parted wife, Zilg, was of the **Nillg** clan and so my son was named Bolg." Azog explained, passing Thorin a jug filled with a sweet-smelling water. "Is that not true for your people?"

"In Dwarven culture, it is by the father's clan and the child will most likely be named by an ancestor in the father's direct line." Thorin explains. He wonders if the etiquette of Orcs were very different than that of a Dwarf. "But it does not have to be like that."

"But then how do you avoid war?' Azog asks. He does not appear to be following any order when he piles his plate with food as the elves tend to do which is good for he was sure that he would cause insult otherwise. And who would think that he would have ever worried about insulting an Orc?

"What do you mean?" Thorin says while taking a slice of honeyed bread a bit squishy to the touch and what looked like green eggs boiled hard.

"By taking the mother's name," Azog says rather seriously, "Each of the seven clan rules but the blood line stays the same so each is happy. My father was a **Dakri** Orc and my mother, like me, was a **Süpog** Orc."

"Oh?" Thorin says more to the taste of the honeyed bread than what Azog said (it was truly delicious for it tasted like sponge cake but was much denser than expected). Though he was very interested in what Azog had to say.

Azog did not appear to notice Thorin's divided attention, "And so when my son is of age, he shall marry into the **Zatna** clan to continue the cycle."

"But what if he does not find his One there?" Thorin asks through a mouthful of green egg, though it did not have the proper texture of an egg and was a bit more grainy and tasted more like fish. Perhaps he would try the black oatmeal dish next.

"His one?"

Clearing his throat with a sip of sweet-water--when was the last time he had citrus?--Thorin explains, "When we are made, we are but half for we are made with another. If we are lucky, we may find our other' half during our lifetimes. And when we are together, we are One."

Azog took a moment to respond. "Orcs have a similar concept. But we do not call them Ones...We call them our **Könül** or our "Souls."

But..." Thorin paused, "But that is what you call me!"

It is," Azog replied, surprisingly calm.

"Is that why..." Thorin could not finish the question. His mind cunning wild.

"Yes. When I saw you, I could not let you go." Azog explained, leaning accross the table to hold Thorin's hand in his own. "I am selfish. It is so rare to meet one's **Könül** that to lose you...I would go mad, Thorin. Please forgive me, but I cannot part from you now."

Thorin could not reply. He did not understand. He did not understand at all. _'But I already have a One!'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait.  
> And look! More Orc culture! X3
> 
> I was originally going to end this with Thorin and Fili's reuinion scene, but the shortness just wasn't doing them justice. So I hope you enjoyed that little breakfast scene.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that made sense.


End file.
